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themorbidsocialite) wrote2025-07-13 10:22 pm
themorbidsocialite) wrote2025-07-13 10:22 pm
After the Tailor left...
and the window was empty of their visage, the Devoted Huntsman considered what had happened and rubbed their neck. "That was... a bit much, wasn't it?"
The Morbid Socialite rose with a strained sigh, his spouse moving to his side immediately to help him up. "If it wasn't you, it was going to be Dinah or someone else and they would have run just the same. Like a skittish animal." Upon standing, the Huntsman wrapped their arms behind the Socialite, gentle of his injuries, and kissed his neck. "But you should have seen it, Enoch, I was reaching them. Maybe, if I had been a tad clearer or more loving or... I'm not sure. But the look on their face, they were opening up, we were communicating."
The Huntsman swayed their Socialite gently to an unheard music. "Something like how you looked after our first five free evenings together when you realized I wasn't about to bite off your head for using the wrong spoon or talking about your new favorite horror novella?"
"Something like that... I was so close, Enoch. I nearly... It nearly... I felt..." The Socialite sighed, closing his eyes and swaying with his lover.
The Huntsman was silent for a long moment before speaking up. "They won't replace Persephone."
The Socialite halted, about ready to turn and snap. "That is not what this is about! They're not meant to replace her! I wouldn't- I'm not so shallow as to believe a person can stand in place of another. But... But it cauterizes the wound. The raw ache of her loss doesn't feel so burning when I can take care of another."
"When you can still feel like a father?"
The Socialite said nothing to this, but sighed into the hold. His thumb played along the arm of his Huntsman, thinking. "They remind me something of myself..." When the Huntsman didn't respond, the Socialite correctly took it as room to continue. "Before I became someone, before I learned to remove the costume. Having grown without proper guidance or protection, with a feeling of regret for the simple crime of existing. They're not Persephone, that much is evident. But they still feel like mine..."
"Better late than never."
"I just hope it's not too late..." The Socialite hummed into his lover's chest, feeling their head on his shoulder. "If you stain my nice shirt, I'm sending you to the Boatman myself."
The Huntsman sighed and held their lover tighter. "Not if your knife never reaches me."
"You're a menace."
"And you're a snob."
"I love you dearly."
The Morbid Socialite rose with a strained sigh, his spouse moving to his side immediately to help him up. "If it wasn't you, it was going to be Dinah or someone else and they would have run just the same. Like a skittish animal." Upon standing, the Huntsman wrapped their arms behind the Socialite, gentle of his injuries, and kissed his neck. "But you should have seen it, Enoch, I was reaching them. Maybe, if I had been a tad clearer or more loving or... I'm not sure. But the look on their face, they were opening up, we were communicating."
The Huntsman swayed their Socialite gently to an unheard music. "Something like how you looked after our first five free evenings together when you realized I wasn't about to bite off your head for using the wrong spoon or talking about your new favorite horror novella?"
"Something like that... I was so close, Enoch. I nearly... It nearly... I felt..." The Socialite sighed, closing his eyes and swaying with his lover.
The Huntsman was silent for a long moment before speaking up. "They won't replace Persephone."
The Socialite halted, about ready to turn and snap. "That is not what this is about! They're not meant to replace her! I wouldn't- I'm not so shallow as to believe a person can stand in place of another. But... But it cauterizes the wound. The raw ache of her loss doesn't feel so burning when I can take care of another."
"When you can still feel like a father?"
The Socialite said nothing to this, but sighed into the hold. His thumb played along the arm of his Huntsman, thinking. "They remind me something of myself..." When the Huntsman didn't respond, the Socialite correctly took it as room to continue. "Before I became someone, before I learned to remove the costume. Having grown without proper guidance or protection, with a feeling of regret for the simple crime of existing. They're not Persephone, that much is evident. But they still feel like mine..."
"Better late than never."
"I just hope it's not too late..." The Socialite hummed into his lover's chest, feeling their head on his shoulder. "If you stain my nice shirt, I'm sending you to the Boatman myself."
The Huntsman sighed and held their lover tighter. "Not if your knife never reaches me."
"You're a menace."
"And you're a snob."
"I love you dearly."